


Fully Bespoke

by babywarg (morphaileffect)



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Backstory, Comedy, Drama, Humor, Inspired by Art, Inspired by Fanart, Love Triangles, M/M, Romance, Tailoring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:08:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24198742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morphaileffect/pseuds/babywarg
Summary: [Modern-day AU] Tony Stark inherits his father's tailoring business and gets two very interesting clients.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Comments: 25
Kudos: 70





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [w_space](https://archiveofourown.org/users/w_space/gifts), [Foxglove_Fiction](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxglove_Fiction/gifts), [TD269](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TD269/gifts).



> Inspired by the art of TD (Twitter: @todo269), specifically [this delightful tailoring AU](https://twitter.com/todo269/status/1236292109528780803).
> 
> I know nothing of tailoring and I've had way too little time to research, despite the kind help of w_space and Foxglove_Fiction. I AM GOING TO MESS THIS UP. Thank you for being patient with me!!
> 
> The prologue was originally [posted on Tumblr](https://babywarg.tumblr.com/post/615733872373760000/writing-tag-game). The later chapters are more or less AO3 exclusives :)

Tony grew up in his father’s tailoring shop. In his three decades there, he had witnessed a lot of people coming and going - but few truly made an impression on him.

Off the top of his head, in fact, he could think of only two.

***

One was someone who never set foot in the shop at all. It was a boy about twelve (Tony’s age), bone-thin and pale, with dirty blonde hair.

He always looked like he had come out of a fight - there was sometimes a bruise on his face, or a torn sleeve, or a ripped shirt collar. But always, he entered Tony’s line of sight with a sort of rage burning in his baby blue eyes.

He would stand in front of the shop and look up at the display mannequins, which changed clothes every Wednesday - and, slowly but surely, the anger on his face would fade.

It would take on a serene look - as if he were staring not at clothes, but at works of art.

And sometimes the boy would look beyond the mannequins, and set those baby blues on Tony’s face. And when he saw that Tony noticed, he became flustered. A touch of color graced those gaunt cheekbones.

More than once, Tony opened the door to the shop, hoping to invite the boy in. But the boy always fled whenever he heard the knob turn.

\- and in the end, it was all right, because Tony’s dad hated letting “the rabble” into his exclusive shop. That boy neatly fit into his father’s definition of “the rabble.”

One day, the boy just stopped standing in front of the shop. Tony always wondered where he’d gone.

***

The other was someone who arrived way later: a boy about nineteen (Tony’s age). He strode in with the confidence of someone who could afford the goods.

Tony never actually knew if the boy had money. He only knew that the boy was good at _looking_ like he did.

And he only knew that the boy liked running his fingers over the finest cloth they had.

His dad didn’t like this, of course, but didn’t see any cause to throw him out. The boy wasn’t damaging the merchandise.

He just sent Tony out to deal with the kid. And Tony had to deal with the kid a _lot_. The kid visited the shop several times, just looking and touching for a few minutes, and just letting Tony talk about the selections on which he lingered.

The kid had a self-important air about him that unsettled Tony somewhat, but at the same time, drew him in.

Tony’s dad didn’t like him.

That might have been part of what made it so much _fun_ for Tony to escort him all over the shop, telling him anything and everything that came to mind - all but spilling his most precious trade secrets and sewing tips.

Tony didn’t mind if the kid just came to waste time; his quiet, yet intense presence was welcome.

One day, the kid found it: the cloth with the exact pattern and texture that he wanted. His holy grail.

It was a good choice, too - one of their most tasteful, most expensive velvets.

“How much to make a whole suit out of this?” the kid asked him.

And Tony was taken aback, first by how soft and sultry the boy’s voice was - exquisite, like mulberry silk.

And then, by how clear and brilliant his eyes were. Like subtly colored glass.

No choice, really, but for Tony to turn on the charm.

“For you,” Tony said, all saccharine, “just six thousand.”

(What? The kid was hot, but Tony wasn’t about to go too low on a suit made of one of the best fabrics in the house.)

The kid didn’t dispute the figure. He fell silent for a moment, feeling the scrap of cloth between his fingers in a light, almost reverent manner.

“I’ll need a fully bespoke suit in a few years,” the kid eventually said. “That fabric had better be ready for me.”

“Years?” Tony echoed with unflagging sweetness. “We don’t reserve for that long, especially not without a deposit. And _especially_ not when people can still grow out of the cut.” He gently took the fabric from the boy’s hand. Their fingers briefly touched, and Tony brushed aside the light tingle that crept up his spine on contact. “Come back a few months before you actually need the suit, okay? And I’ll personally see what we can do for you.”

The boy just stood, staring into Tony’s eyes.

Then, the boy nodded, and wordlessly left the store.

He didn’t come back in the following days. Or months. Or years, even, as initially stated.

The boy hadn’t even left his name. By all accounts, this told Tony that he wasn’t actually serious about the reservation.

But Tony still kept several yards of the velvet material he had chosen stored away. He wasn’t sure why.


	2. Measuring

The big blond man entered the room and lingered at the doorway, looking lost.

The now-30-year-old lone proprietor of Stark Tailoring gestured for his assistant Pepper to attend to the newcomer, while he discreetly looked the guy over.

Shoulders pulled back, eyes straight forward - a soldier’s stance.

Not a soldier’s haircut, but that probably meant the guy was some sort of military VIP. Someone not necessarily in the front lines.

And when he walked into Stark Tailoring, everything he wore was ill-fitting. That cheap bargain bin jacket almost burst at the shoulders. Those slacks stretched nicely across the ass, but hung loose over the legs and thighs.

...Who dressed this man and when could Tony sock them one on the jaw?

Pepper was her usual gentle, solicitous self. But the guy was nervous. He already had one foot out the door, Tony saw.

So he thought it best to talk to his new customer, before they lost him completely.

“Welcome,” he greeted loudly as he approached. “Is this your first time getting fitted for a suit?”

The man smiled sheepishly. “That obvious, huh?”

Tony extended his hand. The man immediately, almost impulsively, shook it, the way a public figure would.

“Steve Rogers,” the man said softly.

Steve Rogers...the name seemed familiar. Maybe he was famous.

But Tony didn’t care. So many famous people went through his shop doors. He treated them all equally - as clients who paid for and deserved the best.

"Tony Stark," he answered brightly, in a tone that he'd learned from his dad: one that assured people that he valued his own name, and would never do anything to shame it.

In the next few minutes, he chatted with Steve Rogers, and learned he was in the Army. He was a captain. He was going to be representing the United States at a UN conference for global security, and that was why he needed a suit.

Not just any suit - a damn good one.

And time was tight.

“How long does it usually take?” Rogers hazarded asking.

Tony pursed his lips. “Mmmbout twelve weeks. Maybe more.”

“I have exactly twelve weeks before I ship out,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Well then, yeah, twelve weeks. Maybe less.”

“And...the cost?”

Tony had to smile at how Rogers’ voice dropped an octave. Almost as if he was preparing for battle.

“I presume the army is paying for this, correct?”

Rogers frowned. “I don’t see how that’s relevant...”

“From where I stand, Mr. Rogers,” Tony light-heartedly declared, “it’s a choice of whether you want to save our armed forces a few bucks, or make them look good.”

Steve Rogers looked for a moment like he as internally looking for an excuse to bolt from the shop.

But still, held his ground, as if he was someone not used to running away from a fight.

“They're giving me money to look like a knockout,” he said softly, “so...”

Tony beamed, and clapped his hands once.

“Perfect. Then a knockout they shall get.”

***

The Starks always took thorough measurements. And since Steve Rogers was new to such a lengthy, detailed process, he fidgeted almost the entire time.

Tony couldn’t suppress a grin every time he said “Hold still”, and Rogers replied “I’m sorry” on reflex, then did his best to do as he was commanded.

Grecian ideal proportions. Trouser legs and sleeves would need a little extra cloth. Plus, an excellent, well-muscled V-shape torso. Shoulders and chest area probably even a little _too_ broad for perfect.

Also...

“Erm,” Steve Rogers said first, twitching away from his touch.

Tony barely repressed a chuckle.

The measuring tape had to go everywhere. And even if Tony’s fingers _barely_ made contact, it would seem that Rogers was especially...sensitive, in certain places.

“Don’t be embarrassed.” He placed a respectful distance between him and his new client. “Happens to all the guys who come here,” he lied.

“Erm...can you just...give me a moment? Please?”

“There’s a toilet down the hall, if you need some privacy...”

“No,” was the snappy response. “I’m fine. Just...a moment.”

Tony really shouldn’t be so amused. Rogers was turning red as a tomato and clearly wanted to melt into the floor...desperately turning away so the other people in the room couldn’t see how hard he was working to bring his erection down.

Tony sneaked a glance over at Pepper - who, he saw, was _much_ better at hiding her amusement. Although it was probably easier because she just had to _write down_ the measurements, not _take them herself_.

To the good Mr. Rogers’ credit, it didn’t take him long. A minute later, he turned back to his outfitters.

“Sorry,” he said after clearing his throat. “Do we, uh, have to repeat that?”

They didn’t. Tony already got the trouser measurements and had given them to Pepper for recording.

But some mischievous part of him rose to the surface and chirped “Yep!”

***

Sue him; he thought Rogers was the most exciting thing he was going to encounter all day.

Rogers was simply so much _fun_ to poke at. He was stuffy, old-fashioned, and absolutely clueless. But Tony hoped he didn't get any weird ideas about what just happened earlier that day...

Erections during measurements and fittings were certainly uncommon, but nothing to be embarrassed about. He would have to assure the good Mr. Rogers of that, when he returned in four weeks' time for his baste fitting (especially in case it happened again).

And Tony would have to scrub his brain clean of Rogers' impressive...endowments.

At least while working on his bespoke suit.

Rogers had long left, and Tony was left discussing Rogers’ indecisiveness when it came to colors and fabric with Pepper, when the front door opened.

The second new customer of the day was a tall, lean gentleman with dark hair and a neatly trimmed goatee.

He lingered at the door, hands in his pockets, quietly eyeing the clothes and fabrics on display, giving Tony time for his routine lookover.

Hmm...already well-dressed. Almost a _bit_ too well-dressed. This was a man who put effort into his daily ensemble.

Handsome, too. And not in an artificial, carefully manicured, movie star way.

Plus, he didn’t seem that old, in spite of his greying temples.

Pepper was immediately there to greet the newcomer. Tony unhurriedly made his way to the front of the shop, in time to hear the newcomer tell her:

“I’m looking for someone who can make me an English suit in 12 weeks.”

“12 weeks,” Tony echoed. “That’s an awfully specific number. I’m guessing this isn’t your first rodeo, Mr...?”

The newcomer met his gaze, and Tony stood transfixed.

 _Damn_ , those eyes.

They were cerulean in the afternoon light. Already he was thinking of fabric dyes that would go _perfectly_ with that color.

“Doctor,” the newcomer corrected. He extended his hand for Tony to shake. “Strange. Stephen Strange. I presume you’re the proprietor, Mr. Stark?”

A _presumer_. “Correct. You mentioned the suit has to be English. I’m guessing you already know what it is exactly that you want?”

The man hesitated for a significant second. It seemed a bit difficult for him to admit there was something he didn’t know.

“I always know what I want,” he said arrogantly, “but I’m no tailor. I just know this place is one of the best, and can make me the suit I want, at the time that I want it.”

How can someone be so good at stroking his own ego while stroking someone else’s?? Tony was going to have to figure that out later.

“Then we’d better get down to business,” he announced, pulling the measuring tape from around his shoulders.

***

The man was cool, composed, and extremely easy to work with. He did everything Tony asked him to do, and was mostly quiet while the measurement was being done.

Except for one time, when Tony’s face was close up to his, and Dr. Strange whispered:

“Is that Axe body spray?”

His voice was slightly growly. Bedroom volume.

“Yup,” Tony whispered back. “But let's slow down, Hannibal Lecter, okay? I don’t usually flirt during the measuring phase...”

“Neither do I,” Dr. Strange replied. “Besides, it’s hard to flirt with someone who’s standing on a box.”

Tony stared at him.

He stared back.

Incensed, and turning slightly red in the face, Tony slowly stepped off the box that allowed him to reach up to properly measure Dr. Strange's collar.

“Oh,” the taller man said, suddenly flustered and contrite, “I didn’t mean - ”

“Raise your right arm again, please?”

Strange did so without comment. Pepper, who had been _so good_ at keeping her laughter in all throughout Steve Rogers, finally couldn’t hold it in and let out a snicker.

Tony rolled his eyes. Great. His only ally in the shop, and she laughs only when _he’s_ the one getting embarrassed.


	3. Baste Fitting

Tony Stark was not a man of routine. He went to sleep at odd hours, woke up sometimes before dawn craving a long drive, or some time at the shop to work - and sometimes he was still asleep long after the sun was up.

When that happened, his ever-reliable assistant Pepper was there to wake him up with a bullhorn and a cup of coffee.

Unlike Tony, the shop he had inherited from his father kept a tight schedule: it was open daily (except Sundays) at 9 AM and closed at 5 PM sharp.

But once at work, he was relentless. Sometimes he could get so into his duties that he forgot the time - and that was when his assistant Pepper stepped in.

 _“12 o’clock, Tony,”_ she would say with her bullhorn. Then he would reluctantly tear himself from work, and realize that only he and Pepper were left in the shop - the others had gone out to lunch.

He took lunch wherever he wanted - he would eat at the shop, or line up at a food truck, or have it at the modest mom n’ pop restaurant nearby.

One day, he was in the mood for some of that restaurant’s famous steaks.

He walked in confident he’d get a good seat, because the owners had known him since he was a child. But...

“Sorry, Tony,” Mrs. Rhodes said to him at the counter. “No seats today. Business has been booming since this young man started eating here. I think most of them may be his admirers.”

Mrs. Rhodes gestured to a broad-shouldered blond man in an ill-fitting jacket, sitting in what had been Tony’s favorite spot in the counter.

“That him?”

“Yup,” Mrs. Rhodes answered. “Every 11:45 AM, on the dot, at that table. That’s him.”

Tony was about to walk away miffed, in search of another lunch place.

Except he knew that man...and considering their history, at this point, Tony was literally incapable of being miffed at _anything_ he did.

“You know, James knows him?” Mrs. Rhodes said aside to Tony. “I sent him a photo I snapped, and he said he was some sort of military big shot. Everyone in his unit admires the boy. He asked me to prepare only the best steaks for him. And to ask him for an autograph, but you know...” in a whisper, “I don’t want to be rude.

“Say no more, Mrs. R. I’ll get James that autograph,” Tony announced to his best friend’s mother, before striding over to the table.

The man had already finished what had been a huge steak meal, and was already enjoying a cup of coffee, calmly ignoring the occasional stares he got from the other diners.

But all his calm flew out the window when he spotted Tony approaching him.

“Captain Rogers!” Tony jovially greeted, loud enough to draw the room’s attention. “Fancy meeting you here.”

The big man’s eyes widened in alarm.

He looked like he wanted to run.

But he didn’t run during their terminally awkward first meeting, and he wasn’t going to run now.

He put down his coffee cup and steeled himself, forced out a mirthless smile.

“They do have great steaks here, don’t they?” Tony continued. “I’m glad you found this place. Actually, I’m surprised you’re in the area!”

“I...actually grew up in this city,” Captain Rogers shyly admitted. _Is that the start of a blush I see?_ Tony wondered. “Just not in this part. Way over on the East side.”

“No kidding!” Tony exclaimed. He pulled up a chair despite the clear objection on Captain Rogers’ face.

He looked around the cafe, at the people who were now busy pretending not to be closely following their exchange. Quite a few of these faces were familiar to him, though he hadn’t spoken much with any of them. If it was true that Captain Rogers grew up here, some of the faces surrounding him must be familiar, too.

“All these curious faces,” Tony muttered under his breath, sure that Rogers could hear him. “Can’t blame them, though. Two hometown celebrities seated at a small family restaurant together? What _would_ the tabloids say.”

“Look,” Captain Rogers interrupted. When Tony turned to him, he covered the lower part of his fast reddening face with one large hand, breathed out a determined sigh. “I want to get this out of the way. I apologize for what happened two weeks ago. You know. At the shop.”

Tony rested his elbows on the table, linked his fingers together and propped up his chin with his thumbs.

“I had a feeling that’s been bothering you,” Tony said quietly. “We can talk about it, if you want. But I hope you take my word for it that it was really nothing. Not even worth talking about.”

“Just a regular work hazard, huh?” Rogers said with a bitter smile. “ ‘Happens to all the guys’?”

Tony smiled reassuringly. He even remembered the exact words Tony had used. It must really have hit him hard. “No,” he admitted. “Does it happen every time you get fitted for a suit?”

Tony knew he was entering risky territory by opening up this can of worms, but he _did_ say they could talk about it if Rogers wanted...

“Didn’t happen each time I got fitted for a uniform,” Rogers admitted. “And I got fitted several times. I entered the army a scrawny teenager. Seemed I bulked up a bit more each year.”

 _Bulked up_ seemed like an understatement. Tony had a hard time imagining Steve Rogers as a “scrawny kid.” As he was, he was a broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, small-waisted specimen. Not the ideal tailoring model, Tony had to admit, but a fun challenge.

“I know you didn’t do anything - out of line,” Rogers said with finality. “You were very professional. It just...works like that with me and certain people, I suppose.”

“I’m...should I say ‘flattered’?” Tony ventured.

Rogers shrugged. “Guess you should be. Only happened with two other people in the past. The first was someone named Bucky, and the second was called Peggy.”

“I see the connection now,” Tony pronounced, leaning back against his chair and slapping his knee. “Our names all end in ‘Y.’ “

The loud knee slap got the room’s attention. Steve Roger’s sudden, short chuckle riveted it.

His hand flew up to his mouth again, but his eyes were smiling this time.

 _Cute_ , Tony observed.

***

Tony liked to wander around after dinner. He rarely visited the same place twice, although he did have his favorite haunts.

One of them was an art gallery outside city limits, a short drive away from his shop. It was small, but it was almost always the first to get the best stuff from independent artists.

And as there were always few visitors at any given time, he could move around incognito. It was a great place to get his thoughts together, surrounded by other people’s artistic talent, and other people _leaving him alone_.

Except for this one person.

“So you’re into Degas-inspired new art, too?”

The deep, distinctive voice already gave it away. Tony turned only once, briefly, to confirm that it was indeed that person, then turned back to the painting.

Fact was, there was no mistaking that person’s presence anywhere. His posture, his impeccable grooming and manner of dress, seemed to draw all the attention in a room to him.

But he wasn’t one of the works of art on display. It was a sin to stare.

“I wouldn’t say this was inspired by Degas,” Tony said confidently. “I’d say this is more Manet. Notice how frivolously it plays with chiaroscuro? That’s more Manet than anything.”

Strange started to say something. Thought better of it. Tried to say something else. Then chuckled.

“Yeah, I know jack about art history,” he sighed.“I overheard a couple of college kids saying ‘Degas’ while looking at it and appropriated that. Figured they wouldn’t mind.”

“You know jack about art history?” Tony smirked at him. “Then what exactly are you doing here, Doctor?”

Strange turned his gaze back to the artwork in front of them. “I like being around things that make me feel good. Even if I don’t understand them. I _try_ to understand them, but while I can’t, I just enjoy how they make me feel.”

Tony was taken aback by how deeply that answer got to him. Like it was a secret they both held dear.

And it was said so casually.

That _asshole_.

“Well, I also meant, what are you doing _here_?” Tony asked. “You’re not due for a fitting for two more weeks. Don’t tell me you’re -“

“Stalking you?”

Great. Looked like the asshole could read minds, too.

Or he just had the annoying superpower of being able to finish Tony’s sentences.

Strange huffed. “Please, don’t flatter yourself. I graduated from a medical school near here. I know where hidden gems like this gallery are located.”

“You went to the X School of Medicine?” Tony exclaimed. “That’s just a few blocks from our shop! You must have passed by us at some point.”

Strange studied Tony’s face. “Yeah, maybe...at some point,” he thoughtfully replied.

“Here to visit the old stomping grounds, then?” Tony asked.

“I’m delivering a series of lectures there, actually.” Strange frowned. “Have I not said that?”

“You haven’t said anything,” Tony matter-of-factly said. “You haven’t said, for example, what you’re going to use the suit I’m making you for. That would have been helpful.”

“Oh.” Strange blinked. “It doesn’t matter, does it? You wouldn’t need that information, if you really know your stuff.”

“Okay.” Tony held his hands up as a mock sign of surrender. “It was nice coming across you and all that, but I think having my professional competence questioned is the absolute best way to cap off this lovely evening.” He started walking away. “I’ll see you at your first fitting, Doc.”

“Wait.”

Tony stopped walking and looked back. It seemed Strange’s shoulders had fallen a bit. His perfect posture was a little stooped, a little less domineering.

“Sorry,” he stammered. “I tend to sass when I’m nervous. I know that’s a problem.” He looked at Tony’s face. “I want to start over. If you’re open to that. I promise not to be as annoying as I naturally am, if you’ll help me kill the rest of the evening. Join me for drinks?”

 _Nervous?_ Was that how he was during the measuring, when he all but directly insulted Tony’s height?

His confession sure looked sincere. And convincing. And the truth was, he was nowhere _near_ as annoying as he might have feared.

Tony wanted to get to know this aloof guy better. And he was just given an opening to do so.

 _Smooth_ , Tony noted.

***

Baste fitting normally doesn’t take long, but Tony took his time with these two particular clients.

In the two weeks they’d been meeting for lunch - at the same time, at the same restaurant, like clockwork, almost every day - he’d come to know Steve Rogers a bit better. And he hoped that the familiarity they fostered was enough to help him overcome his “condition.”

Fortunately, it was. No amount of touching from Tony created any “problems” during the fitting.

Besides this, he’d educated Steve enough on the rudiments of fashion, so the man could have a better idea of what he wanted out of his suit. The Captain was a quick study.

(The problem was, it seemed his chest and shoulders still kind of broadened a few centimeters off the original measurements. Tony would have to make more adjustments.)

And a few days after Steve’s fitting, it was Stephen Strange’s turn.

During their two weeks hanging out in the evenings, hopping from one obscure part of the city to another, Tony got to know the good doctor a bit more.

He was smart. And funny. And frequently mocked people he actually liked - which was a quirk he happened to share with Tony. Tony was just a bit better at coming up with slightly insulting nicknames.

As he grew more comfortable around Tony, Stephen started telling him more personal things. One of those things was that he was planning to use the suit first for an award-giving ceremony. And then he planned to keep it for other important occasions that may arise, later in life.

An objective. Good. Tony already knew that Steve Rogers needed a suit that would make him look impressive on the international stage. This time, he also knew that Stephen needed to look impressive in front of his peers. All that could inform Tony’s design choices.

It was a worthwhile exercise, getting Stephen to open up to him. Beneath the snark, there was actually a man who wanted to be honest, to _discuss_ things and not just trade information.

So when it was time for his fitting, he and Stephen got to discussing more things about the suit. A lot of the business day was taken up by them talking shop.

Tony took his time, and enjoyed it. These two clients were special.


End file.
